Katherine Plumber, Private Investigator
by withcameraandpen
Summary: She used to have big dreams. She dreamed that her words could dethrone kings and restore justice where it was sorely missed, but now she uses her keen eye and sharp mind for lesser tasks. Catching cheaters, mostly. That is, until a man named Jack Kelly pays a visit ad begs her to find his brother. But Jack is hiding secrets of his own and his brother, Crutchie, might pay dearly.
1. A Case, a Client, & a Calling

The newspaper on Katherine's desk was crumpled and thin, the edges of the newsprint faded. The headline, though, was just as bold and black as the day it ran: _Mayor Innocent! Accusations Fraudulent!_

Katherine didn't like keeping it around. It reminded her of her old dreams that one day she'd have a bright corner office at the _New York Sun_ from which she would change the world. She was going to take New York City by its gleaming hand, but then the city decided it preferred a story that left feathers unruffled, a peace-keeping lie. Justice was dead.

But desiring fiction over fact was human nature, she had come to realize since changing her profession. People came to a private detective to know the truth, but she found, once she delivered it to them, that they preferred ignorance.

She stowed the newspaper in its drawer, cursing herself for keeping it. This was her life now, her dingy office above a tailor's shop, her clients, and their cheating spouses. Those cases were the bulk of her income and usually fell into one of two categories: either the spouse was a serial two-timer, or her client was paranoid. Either way, the cases rarely had happy endings. Occasionally something a little more exciting came along, but nothing that earned her the title of muckraker.

 _Those days are over. Get used to it._

A silhouette slid over the frosted glass of her office door and startling her. Clients' knocking used to make her jump when she was still green, but now silence caught her off guard. An outline of a fist appeared as the visitor knocked twice, and then the silhouette warped and disappeared entirely as the visitor opened the door.

And again Katherine was caught off-guard, because he was _distracting_.

He was tall and proud, with a handsome face, broad shoulders, and kind green eyes. Men like him didn't get cheated on, so what the hell was he doing here?

She gave a tiny shake of her head to clear it and then got on with her once-over: his clothes were rumpled but clean, save for the curious smears of paint around the cuffs of his sleeves. He sported a day's growth of scruff on his jaw but his thick black hair was combed, which she noticed after he took off his gray cap and started wringing it within an inch of his life. His hands were splattered with paint, too, working into the calluses and cracks of his skin.

"'Scuse me," he said, with a slight quake in his voice. "You's the detective? Detective Plumber?"

"That's me." Katherine gestured to the chair before her desk. He came in, sat down, and put his cap back on, though his hands kept busy in his lap and picked at the stray threads of his clothes. He couldn't keep still for a second.

He cleared his throat. "I heard you is good at findin' folks."

"I am." She reached into another desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. She tried not to enjoy his puzzled gaze on her as she half-filled the glass and pushed it towards him. "This will help after a bad night's sleep."

He stared at her, bewildered, and didn't touch the drink. "How'd ya know?"

"Well." She gestured to his clothes. "Forgive me, but your clothes look like you tried to sleep in them. And I know you didn't get a wink because you didn't shave this morning. You just splashed water on your face to wake yourself up." Her face softened, as did her voice as she said, "And between you and I, most folks come to a private detective because there's something keeping them up at night."

"Damn." He reached for his glass of whiskey, eyebrows lifting to his hairline. "You ain't gonna have any? You wouldn't be as scary if ya did."

Katherine gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I don't drink on the job."

"Worth a shot." His R sounds would sometimes dip into Y's. Katherine found it charming. "Medda said ya wouldn't touch a drop."

She perked up. "Medda Larkin sent you?" Medda Larkin, owner and star of a theater in the bowery, had hired Katherine a while back to root out a tip thief. Medda was an absolute doll and shrewder than she let on, which was the shrewdest kind of shrewd to be.

Her visitor smiled just a little, a pinprick of hope shining through the chink in his armor. "She's an old friend o' mine. Said ya could help me better than anyone else."

Katherine leaned forward. That was a challenge, plain and simple, and she had always loved challenges. "What's your name, sir, and what's your trouble?"

He cleared his throat and he sat up straighter, his shoulders squaring. He was steeling himself. "My name's Jack Kelly. My brother's gone missin'."

"I'll find your brother, Mister Kelly," she said, pulling out her notebook and a pencil. Runaways were typically easy, thanks to a conductor at Penn Station with a sweet spot for her. "Any suspicions who your brother ran off with? Possible aliases would be helpful, too."

Jack's face fell and the steel disappeared, revealing his softened edges. "He didn't run off, he got taken. Kidnapped."

"You think he's been abducted?" She shook her head and picked up her telephone receiver. "The police should be helping you. They have the manpower and the resources—"

Jack's hand shot out suddenly and desperately and slammed down on the hook, preventing any outbound call. A moment later he caught himself and withdrew with an apologetic shrug.

"Ya can't call the police!" His voice was bitter and brittle, but his eyes darted all over the place until his words found calmer footing. "We's just a coupla kids who can barely afford rent. The police don't care none 'bout folks like us. Goin' t' them is just wastin' time."

Katherine's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Mister Kelly, active abductions are not my specialty."

"Please, Miss Plumber. _Detective_ Plumber." He leaned forward, his hands lacing together as if in prayer. "Medda was ravin' 'bout you. Pointed me in ya direction soon as I told her wha' happened. My brother don't got time fo' me t' go shoppin' around."

This felt like a trap the universe had set for her, another opportunity to show how colossal a failure she could be. Her incompetence might cost someone his life, and shatter those of his family's.

This line of work required her to be heartless. She forced people to learn unsavory truths about their loved ones. Sometimes she wondered if she had lost her heart entirely, but now she knew she hadn't because it was declaring loud and clear: _he's depending on you._

"I'll take your case."

Relief swept over Jack's face, a sleepless night's worth of tension vanishing before Katherine's eyes. "I don't know enough words ta thank ya, Detective."

"No thanks necessary. Let's begin." Katherine flipped to a fresh page in her notebook and said, "I have to ask you some difficult questions, Mister Kelly. Are you prepared?"

Jack nodded, his eyes clear for the first time since he'd walked in. "Whatevah can help."

"Tell me about your brother."

He cleared his throat. "His name's Charlie Morris, but most folks call 'im Crutchie. Blonde, 'bout five-foot-four, bad leg. Got the nickname on account o' his walkin' 'round with crutches.."

Katherine's pencil tore across the page. "Do you know why anyone would take him?"

"He's innocent. He couldn't hurt a soul."

Katherine's lips pursed. People often looked much more innocent to their loved ones than the rest of the world. "Mister Kelly, you need to be totally honest with me _and_ with yourself."

"I was. I _am_. Crutchie didn't do a damn thing." Jack's jaw tightened. "Whatever's goin' on, he don't deserve the blame."

Katherine nodded slowly. Abductions didn't happen for no reason, even if Jack wanted to pretend the opposite. The reason for Charlie's would take some digging, but the routine line of questioning would have to do for now. "When and where did he disappear?"

"He didn't come home from work last night, so I called an' got the news from them. Crutch has a job at the Sunset Lounge as a busboy."

She scribbled down the name of the lounge. "That's my first stop, Mister Kelly."

"Call me Jack." Jack stood, putting his cap back on finally. "Sorry, I gotta run. Medda's expectin' me—I's a set painter fo' her theater. If ya find anythin', you can find me there."

"Sure thing." She stood with him, already feeling the jitters of duty in her bones. She had a life to save. "I'll do everything in my power to get your brother back."

Jack nodded. "Thank ya from th' bottom o' my heart. I's countin' on ya, Detective." He started to wring his hands again. "He's all I got."

"I'll bring him home." Katherine kept her grimmer thoughts to herself. _Even if he's in a coffin_.


	2. The Pianist

The rain poured. Scurrying pedestrians ducked under awnings. Cars trundled up and down the wet street. Through all the gloom, the Sunset Lounge glowed in the distance, promising glitzy, steamy relief within.

Katherine was huddled in the doorway of a flower shop, quietly observing the people pulled in by the lounge's warm glow. Upper-middle class folks mostly, with tailored clothes, perfect hair, and plenty of secrets. Most of the affairs she'd uncovered were those of men with white-collar jobs; blue-collar workers were too exhausted to cheat.

Katherine peeled out of the doorway and charged through the rain toward the Sunset. It was only halfway down the street, but her hat and coat were drenched by the time she ducked under the lounge's awning. The Sunset's warm glow seeped into her bones as she fell into step behind a dashing couple, following them and the sound of sweet, soft music through a pair of polished wooden doors.

Inside the lounge, burgundy armchairs and Turkish poufs dotted the floor, with many couples sharing one seat in the saccharine haze. At the rear of the venue was a brightly-lit stage, upon which a handsome brunette singer crooned a smooth tune. Katherine's eye wandered toward the other half of the singer's act as she unbuttoned her rain-soaked coat, made a beeline for the bar, and ordered a scotch to elevate her from loiterer status. The singer's accompanist played a piano pressed against the side of the stage, beaming proudly up at the singer. The pianist's movements were passionate but controlled: he threw his whole body into the piano on the loud notes, but he caressed the quiet keys with the gentleness of a lover.

"Must be single," she murmured to herself. If that pianist were hitched, he'd have somewhere to put the passion he funneled into his performance.

Their set ended to a healthy smattering of applause and the singer disappeared offstage, but the pianist made for the bar. "The usual, Elmer."

Katherine sidled up beside him with a mischievous smile. Nothing disarmed men faster than a twinkle in a pretty woman's eye. "Original tune? I think I'd remember hearing a song that good."

The pianist turned his head toward her, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. With his high eyebrows and round eyes, his face seemed to remain permanently surprised. "Thank you," he said politely. "The song is all Bill's work, really."

"Bill, that's…?"

"My singer." A smile flickered across his face. "He does the lyrics. I just find the right melody to put to them."

"Sounds like a match made in heaven." Katherine ran her fingertip around the edge of her untouched glass. "Been performing here long?"

His brow furrowed. "How'd you know?"

"You have a usual and you know the bartender's name. It's not exactly wizardry."

Just then, Elmer returned with a glass of wine which he placed before the pianist. He didn't touch it, though. His eyes were locked on Katherine. "Something tells me I should get on your good side." He extended his hand. "I'm Darcy Reid."

As she shook his hand, she said, "Pleasure to meet you, Mister Reid. I'm Detective Plumber."

" _Detective_?" Reid withdrew his hand as if she'd burned him. "Did someone send you after me?"

 _Why does a lounge accompanist have such a guilty conscience?_ She was used to men feeling robbed after they realized her flirting had an agenda, but she had never seen such wariness. "Does someone have a reason to investigate you?"

"No!" He glanced around at the other patrons, apparently startled by his own outburst. His voice was quiet when he added, "But forgive me for wishing to keep my private life _private_."

"I'm not here for you, Mister Reid." He relaxed. "I'm looking for Charlie Morris."

Immediately he tensed up again. His eyes narrowed. "Who's asking?"

"I'm a _private_ detective. I've been hired to look into his disappearance."

Reid sighed heavily, regarding her with a suspicious eye. Then he glanced around the bar, downed his drink in one long swig, and stood. "Let's talk in back."

Katherine slapped a few bills on the bar top and set off with Reid across the packed floor to a shadowy doorway beside the stage. Through here, the glitz and glamour of the front of the house gave way to plain walls, bare light bulbs dangling from the ceiling, and a half-dozen plain doors. Reid walked all the way to the end, where one door was cracked open just a bit. He rapped on the door and barreled on inside to a dressing room with bare walls and two dressing tables crammed in side to side. "Bill, can you give us a minute?"

Bill the singer was seated at one of the tables. Bill had fine features, a round chin, and the appearance of two different skin tones. In his hands was a wet rag smeared with beige, which he balled up and put back on the dresser. It took effort to look effortless.

Without glancing away from his mirror, he asked, "Darcy, who's this?"

"A friend," he said evasively. Bill turned and leveled a demanding glare at Reid, but Reid didn't buckle. "She's fine. Just step out for a minute. But no smoking. Gotta keep those pipes golden."

Surly and stoic, Bill rolled his eyes and stood. "Could have used a warning."

"Sorry. It's an emergency."

Bill clicked his tongue and turned to leave, but Reid brushed past Katherine and caught him by the arm. "It's just a minute, and she's no one. Don't worry."

"Yeah, yeah." Bill pulled his arm away from Reid and left in a huff, shutting the door behind him. Katherine held back a wince. Where was their onstage chemistry? Where was the friendship that Reid so clearly prized?

"Sorry," said Reid with a heavy sigh. "He can be a diva, but I think he's earned the right to it." He gestured absently to the seat Bill just vacated, but she remained on her feet as he sat at the other dressing table. "Anyway. Business."

"Business." Katherine pulled out her notebook again. Reid grimaced when he saw it. "What can you tell me?"

Reid bit his lip and glanced at the dressing table Bill had just vacated. "Who hired you to find Charlie? Was it Jack Kelly?"

 _Reid knows Jack?_ "How do you know that name?"

"The name is all I know," he said with an apologetic shrug. "Charlie started working here around the time Bill and I got our regular gig. He talks about his brother plenty, but he doesn't mention anyone else in the way of family."

Katherine sighed. Jack had said his brother was all he had. That meant the reverse was true, too. "You didn't bring me back here to ruminate on loneliness, Mister Reid."

He fixed his suspicious gaze back on her. "How much do you have to tell your clients about what you learn?"

She balked. Was now the time to talk about her policies? "I keep my clients informed of my case progress, but I don't see what bearing that has on my inquiries."

Actually, she could. But Darcy couldn't be the guilty party; asking about what Jack would know was just plain stupid.

Then again, what else was he hiding? Reid knew something that he didn't want Jack to know. _That_ was worth pursuing.

"Are you _sure_ you only know Kelly in passing? Withholding information from a detective is a dangerous thing."

Reid's eyes hardened. "Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not, Mister Reid. I'm just warning you that I'll be forced to consider you a suspect, should you give me reason to. And lying to me is a damn good reason."

"I wasn't lying!"

Her voice was quietly sharp, like the sound of a dagger muffled by clothing. "Then what is it that you don't want me to know?"

Sweat broke out on his brow and he shot to his feet, hands balling into fists at his sides. "We have our lives and our living to make! I'd prefer Bill and I don't get mixed up in this unpleasantness."

If he was worried about getting dragged into something unpleasant, that meant whatever he knew was good. Maybe that was a heartless way to think about it, but what choice did she have? What choice did _Charlie_ have?

"You can remain anonymous," she promised, channeling all her will power into softening her voice. "You can be one of a nameless handful of witnesses—but _only_ if you give me everything you know."

Reid's jaw clenched as he thought, and he turned her proposition over for such a long time that Katherine was sure he was enjoying keeping her in suspense. But at long last, he nodded, and Katherine released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "I don't want to see the names Darcy Reid or Bill Hearst anywhere except the entertainment pages."

"You have my word." She felt a rush of pride at her victory and no small amount of gratitude as they shook hands. To smooth things over between them, she said, "Bill's lucky to have you. Not all of us have such dedicated friends."

Reid turned away, but not quickly enough for Katherine to miss the smirk he bit back. _They're not_ just _friends. That explains it_. "Better get your pen ready."

Katherine wrote like a madwoman, only half-processing what Reid said as she focused on copying down every exact word. "We had a gig here the night Charlie was taken. Bill went on home ahead. Charlie and I were chatting, and I went to take a wizz. When I got back, he was getting dragged out the door and into a car. I followed as much as I could, but I didn't see where they went. I, uh, I recognized the face, though."

Katherine paused and looked up at the pianist, her jaw slack. He knew who did it all this time and saw fit just to dangle scraps before her?

"I didn't know who you were working for," he said defensively, shrinking away from the look in her eye. "I didn't know if I could trust you."

She beat down her anger and consoled herself with the fact that he had deigned to reveal this at all. Now was not the time to critique her witness. "Right, Mister Reid. Now, _who did you see?"_

The conflict was evident on his face. She saw the worry that she might go back on her word and blast his and Bill's names everywhere, but she saw that her own outburst had guilted him enough to move him to action. "Spot Conlon. He's out in Brooklyn."

"Who is Spot Conlon?" she asked immediately. "How do you know him?"

"We've played in his neck of the woods. I don't know how to find him, but I know his face." A shiver ran down his spine. "He liked our music. He came backstage and, well—" He swallowed. "Saw a little more than he bargained for. One of the girls there said we were lucky if that was the last time we ever crossed paths."

Darcy's whole body was shaking, and his face shone with sweat as he brushed past her for the door. "All I know is I saw him, but he didn't see me the night of. I don't have anymore to tell you."

He opened the door. "Goodbye, detective."

Katherine quickly said her thank-you and then beat her retreat. She breezed past Bill sulking in the hallway and back to the main lounge, and then outside to the rain.

 _Spot Conlon_. She had a name, and that name had a reputation. It wasn't much to go on, but even this sliver was a blessing: Spot Conlon's leverage on Reid had kept him from going to the police with what he knew. She was lucky to get that name at all.

And she was lucky she was still an unknown quantity to this Conlon fellow. He didn't see the approaching storm.

All that remained was to find him.


	3. On The Spot

"Welcome back, m'dear!"

Medda Larkin looked like a queen, whether she wore a bright, frilly costume or her jade dressing gown, as she was when Katherine arrived at her theater. With a sunny smile and a keen eye, she shooed away her manager and sashayed down the aisle of the house floor, eager to welcome her subject. "Thought you would cash in quicker on your free show."

"Sorry to disappoint, Medda, but I'm here on business." Katherine glanced at the carpenters onstage, who were in the process of building what looked like two towers of a castle. "I got a case from one of your employees. Is Jack Kelly here?"

"Jack." She frowned deeply, her brow wrinkling in concern. "I told him to take some time, but he shows up every day."

Medda glanced behind her towards the viewing boxes, heaving a deep sigh through her nose. "Well, he doesn't _do_ much in the way of work. Just shows up and skulks around with his sketchpad. And I don't have the heart to tell him otherwise."

She turned back to Katherine, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "If you figure out what'll bring him back to life, do us all a favor and don't keep it to yourself."

Katherine thanked her and started up. It was the morning after her visit to the Sunset, but she had not been idle. Most of her night was spent camping the library's archives, combing the history of New York in search of Spot Conlon. She found a Sean and Tiffany Conlon who had come through Ellis Island, but nothing she had found nothing in any newspaper or public record for the name Spot Conlon. That was not so unusual in her line of work; men as powerful as Conlon, whose names were only whispered because they dripped fear, liked to stay int he shadows. If a man this powerful was Charlie's captor, what was the victim's intended fate?

The first thing Katherine noticed in the viewing box were the countless torn-out pages strewn about the floor and seats. Jack was curled up in one of the seats, his boots pressed to the banister and his sketchbook in his lap. His hand flowed and skipped deftly across the page with the grace of a ballerina, light and swift. The pencil-stroke pirouettes formed the same face as was on all the pages scattered around: an angular chin, a pair of kind eyes, and hair that stuck up in all directions.

Before Katherine could stop herself, she asked, "Is that your brother?"

Jack jumped to his feet and whirled around, clutching his sketchbook to his chest. "Detective! I didn't hear ya come up."

"My apologies. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine, just give a guy a warnin' next time," he huffed as he swept a stack of sketches off the seat beside him and into his arms. "My heart can't take much more shockin'."

Katherine's mouth pressed into a thin line. Just wait till you hear.

They sat. Jack put the sketches down. "I won't be long," said Katherine. "I'm here to update you, and then I'll be heading off to investigate my lead."

"Ya already got a lead?" His whole body went taut. "Damn, Plumber. No wonder Medda recommended ya."

Her mouth pulled into a smirk. "You're very kind, Jack."

"Nah, I'm just grateful." His hands were back in his lap, wringing themselves within an inch of their life. "Don't keep me in suspense."

She cleared her throat. Down to business. "I went to the Sunset last night, and I found a witness to your brother's abduction. Does the name Spot Conlon mean anything to you?

The color drained from Jack's face, along with the hope. "Spot Conlon? Is you sure?"

So Jack knows him. "I'm afraid so. He works out in Brooklyn, so at least we can narrow down the possibilities of your brother's location to a borough."

"He's got all o' Brooklyn under his thumb." Jack stood again and began to pace, his whole body radiating with nervous shock. "Why would he take Crutchie? It don't make no sense."

Katherine stood with him but remained calm. Jack needed a port in this storm. "Could your brother have been involved in something unsavory in Brooklyn? Maybe he worked for this Conlon character."  
"Never," he growled, waving off her suggestion with a vicious swipe of his arm. "He ain't stupid."

A truth denier. People put on blinders where their loved ones were concerned, even in the face of conclusive evidence. It was her duty to take them off. "Then he has to have some other connection to him, because my witness is certain it was Conlon. Mister Kelly—"

"I told ya, call me Jack—"

"Mister Kelly, you have to be honest with me and with yourself. If your brother was abducted, it's because he was involved with someone he shouldn't have been involved with." If this were a ransom, the kidnappers would have left a note or made a demand by now. And, frankly speaking, Jack wasn't in the kind of money that balanced out the risk of a kidnapping. This was punishment.

Jack was silent for a long, long moment. His fists clenched and unclenched and his eyes darted around to all the sketches he'd done of his brother, as if the drawn lips would part and relay him the answer. "Spot Conlon, ya said? I'll see 'bout Spot Conlon."

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the box with the rage of a bull. Katherine charged after him but by the time she made it down the winding staircase, Jack was already marching up the house aisle and past Medda without so much as a look at her. Katherine tried to run past her, but she caught her by the arm and stalled her progress.

"What did you say to him?" she scolded. "What is going on?"

"I don't know." Katherine pulled her arm from Medda's grip. "But he's about to go do something stupid, and I'm about to stop him."

Katherine frantically crammed quarters into the slot of the pay phone and jabbed at the numbers, holding the phone to her ear as she then scrambled for her notebook. Please be in, please be in…

"David Jacobs of the Sun speaking," said a familiar voice on the other end. "Can I help you?"

"Davey!" Katherine let out a sigh of relief, leaning against the wooden wall of the booth. "Thank the lord. It's an emergency."

"Are you hurt, Kitty?" David was a historic worrier, though she had to admit her opening with It's an emergency wasn't the easiest on the heart.

"I'm not hurt, but I think someone's about to be. I need your help."

"You got it."

"You're the best." Katherine knew how lucky she was to have a childhood friend find a job as a crime reporter for the New York Sun, but she knew she was even luckier that he still looked out for her, despite his worry for her lopping off years of his life. "I need whatever you have on the name Spot Conlon."

"Spot Conlon?" She heard papers shuffling around and the telltale clunks of David picking up his phone to search his records. "You working a case on him?"

"Yeah, and my client's an idiot. I gotta stop him before this whole thing goes sideways."

David paused, and then he asked, "How sideways are we talking?"

"I can take care of myself." She rolled her eyes. "And don't tell me to come back. It's not gonna happen."

"Would you be frantically calling me to save someone's life if you were back here?" he retorted. "They miss you. I can convince them to bring you on again, and you wouldn't be picking up after reckless people!"

"I'd see Rabbi Appelbaum if I wanted a lecture. I'm on a time crunch here."

David heaved a sigh. "All right, all right. I got Conlon's file." The line went silent as David skimmed through the file. Katherine waited with bated breath, knowing she teetered on the edge of her next phase. What was taking so long? Jack could be anywhere by now!

The long silence was broken by David's quiet voice. "Kitty, what are you involved in?"

Her stomach dropped. "Whatcha got?"

More clunking signaled David setting the phone back on the desk. She could picture him in his office, leaning over the open file on his desk and grimacing as he read.

"He's done time for petty stuff, mostly robbing groceries and drug stores. He was arrested for assault and battery in '32 but the charge got dropped."

"It was dropped?" If there was enough proof to make an arrest on a battery charge, why would the victim drop it and lose out on a good case in court? "Who did he attack?"

"Some guy named Wiesel, but that's not the worst. He's also suspected of grand theft auto and aiding the escape of fugitives, but there's no arrest warrant because the evidence is circumstantial. What the hell are you doing chasing this guy?"

So he wasn't just his reputation. He had the record to back up Darcy Reid's fear of blabbing, along with that chokehold on Brooklyn Jack had mentioned. Katherine certainly wouldn't want someone like him knowing her secrets.

"Do you have an address? A location?"

"He's got a pub, but wait one damn minute," said David, his voice lowering. "Katherine, this guy is worse than anyone you've asked me to find. Whatever you're wrapped up in, you have to get out."

"David, I don't have time for this. Give me the damn address because someone's life is depending on me getting there!"

"That doesn't mean you go in without protecting yours!"

"I won't!" Really, he was going to lecture her now? When Jack was on his own suicide mission, and she was the only rational thought that would get to him?

She took a deep breath to compose herself. She'd get nowhere if she shouted him down the line. "I'm not stupid enough to go in without my piece. And for whatever it's worth, I don't think he's our man." She had always been a smooth liar.

David heaved a sigh over his phone. "He has a pub in Brooklyn called the Galleon. But stay on and take notes: there's a little more here you should know."

The Galleon was a seedy little pub with filthy windows and a dark, foreboding front doorway. The air smelled like the ocean, but the coast was hidden behind other dingy shops. The grimy surroundings gave the pub a sort of glamor, like the hideout of a king of thieves.

Katherine stood before it, doing her best to cobble together a plan. She would need one if she wanted a fighting chance with this Conlon, who was clearly comfortable with violence and had no respect for authority. So what was her plan?

She'd think of something on the way in.

She opened the door and marched into a lively pub. A fiddler in the corner played savagely, kicking up a harsh, though not altogether unmelodious, tune. The patrons didn't bother hiding their crass stares at her. Even though she'd come in her work clothes, a plain bottle green dress, she was clearly a step above the place's usual clientele of exhausted workmen and ladies of the night. The men played cards and the women played men in the heart of Spot Conlon's empire.

"A very good evenin' ta you, miss." A busboy sidled up to Katherine, his hair as oily as his smile. "Can I help ya?"

"I need to speak to Mister Conlon." Any other day she would have played the honey trap, sweet and giggly and that much easier to humor when she asked for information, but tonight was a race against time. It was a race against Jack and whatever Conlon would do when Jack got here.

The busboy's smile faltered at her terse tone. "Right this way, miss." He led her behind the bar, where he ditched his tub of dishes before taking her through to the kitchens. The stations were crowded and she struggled to follow his effortless bobbing and weaving, prompting him to say, "I get the feeling ya don't find yaself in many kitchens."

Katherine smiled wryly. "You're very observant."

He shrugged. "Ya start recognizin' patterns when ya're 'round 'nuff folks fo' 'nuff time." He jerked his thumb toward himself. "Nothin' gets past ol' Racetrack Higgins."

"Nice to meet you, Racetrack Higgins." And it really was. Maybe under better circumstances, he could teach her what he knew.

His greasy smile was back. "Fo' you, miss, Race is jus' fine."

In the time they had talked, he'd led her down a dark hallway and to one final door. Race knocked on it three times, then opened it and said, "A young woman's here ta see ya, Mistah Conlon, sir."

The office beyond the door was sparsely decorated and furnished: two card tables stood in the center with maps of New York neighborhoods spread over them, the corners held down by empty tankards. They bore pencil marks of routes traced through the streets from one circled city block to another. More scrawled-on maps of whole boroughs hung from the walls. An overstuffed armchair and table with a telephone sat in one corner; in another were boxes overflowing with clothes and food. In the corner closest to the door was a cluttered desk, on which she could see a list of names with a date, time, and two locations next to them.

At the tables in the center of the room was a young man poring over a map of Brooklyn. He must have been a year or two younger than Katherine and a good handful of inches shorter than her, though his corded arms and stocky build more than made up for the height difference. He'd looked up when Race announced her, his forehead creasing and his eyes hardening.

"Who's this?"

"Yer appointment, sir." Katherine held herself back from widening her eyes. This was Spot Conlon? This young man couldn't be responsible for kidnapping. This was not what a king of thieves looked like.

The man who was apparently Spot Conlon frowned more deeply. "Who said somethin' about an appointment?"

"She said ya knew she was comin'."

Before Conlon could say anything, Katherine charged towards him, stopping at the other side of his table. "I'll make this quick, Mister Conlon. I know you've abducted Charlie Morris, and you're going to tell me where he is."

His jaw jutted forward. "'Scuse me, miss, but you is gonna have to fill me in on who the hell ya think ya are."

"I'm a private investigator. Finding people is what I do." She rose up to her full height. "I'm not here to tear down your regime, but I will not hesitate to do so to ensure Charlie makes it home."

Conlon scoffed. His youthful appearance hid iron nerves and a healthy cockiness, both of which seemed to help him take her threat in stride. "And how do you plan on doin' that?"

"With just a little research." Katherine pulled out her trusty notebook again, thankful for David's incredible instinct for giving her the right puzzle pieces. "A month ago, Warden Snyder wakes to find half the beds in the juvenile jail called the Refuge empty. This jail is right by the shore, near a great, big culvert."

She flipped the page. "The month before that was a small-time raid on a local department store. And then a week after that, a couple fellas who match the description of your bartender and your busboy were spotted running out of a grocery store that's a thirty-minute walk from here."

Silence fell over the room. The creak of the floorboards behind her betrayed Race's fidgeting, but Conlon was stone-still, his fists balled at his side and his face radiating anger. She had him on the ropes, and now she had to follow up with the second half of her one-two punch. "Now, a lot of folks would assume those aren't connected, but all it would take is for me to give your name to the police. And suddenly it all goes up."

Conlon's jaw clenched and his eyes hardened, his mouth twisting in disdain. "I won't let ya tear down everythin' we built."

"Release Charlie and I won't." Katherine stared him down. He was pretty damn fidgety under this intense scrutiny, his head tilting and his weight shifting from foot to foot.

She realized a second too late that he wasn't fidgeting out of nerves—he was sending a signal. She only figured it out when she heard a click and felt the cool barrel of the gun pressed against the back of her head. "Sorry, miss."

Katherine swallowed. Her stomach dropped. She had sailed in on a bluster of self-righteousness, but that wasn't enough to save her from being dealt with on the spot. She had built her own trap.

"Thank ya, Race." Conlon relaxed, his deep frown morphing into a menacing smirk. "Ya good at ya job, Detective, I'll give ya that. But ya think ya can just march into my own home, threaten me, an' expect not t' suffer the consequences?"

"People know I'm looking for Charlie," she replied coolly. "People know I'm here. If I disappear, they'll know where to look."

"Yeah?" He sauntered around the table, his jaw jutting forward again. "The thing 'bout guns is that they can be reloaded. I know how t' clean up messes."

Suddenly the door behind them slammed open. Anticipating gunfire, Katherine ducked out of the way and scrambled toward the wall for safety, thanking her lucky stars as she yanked out her own weapon. She cocked it at Race, but he had swiveled toward the door and aimed his piece at—

Katherine's jaw dropped. "Jack?"


	4. Hellfire

Like an avenging angel, Jack Kelly stood in the doorway, his righteous anger washing into the room like a typhoon. His fists were clenched, his shoulders were squared, and his green eyes blazed with fury. He had opened his mouth to say something, but Katherine cut across him.

"Get out of here!"

And suddenly his righteousness was swept away by his surprise as his eyes were drawn to her.

"Plumber?"

"Wait a fuckin' minute." Conlon went forward until he was face to face with Jack. Katherine whirled and aimed her gun at him, but he hardly seemed more shaken by her and Jack's recognizing each other than the threat of death. "Are ya the one that hired her? Ya fuckin twit!"

"So what? You took Crutchie!" Jack lunged forward and grabbed Conlon by the front of his shirt.

"Getcha hands offa him!" barked Race, finger curling around the trigger.

"Easy, easy!" Spot's hands latched onto Jack's and struggled against him without breaking Jack's gaze. They were locked in a confrontation that seemed all but inevitable, like a pair of brothers in a Shakespeare play. Yes, they were undeniably brothers, too enraged with each other to be strangers.

Lead filled Katherine's stomach. "You work for him."

All three heads swiveled in her direction and silence fell over the room. She should have seen it! His reaction earlier today to Conlon's name, a name kept on a need-to-know basis—how hadn't she figured it out?

Jack looked at her helplessly. "Detective…"

Conlon shoved Jack off him, his chest heaving. "As a matter o' fact, Detective," he spat, "he's my partner. Ya knew my whole life story, but ya didn't puzzle that one out?"

Katherine stared hard at Jack. No, she hadn't figured it out. His grief had been so heavy and all-consuming that she had seen the fearful brother and not the gangster that had gotten them all into this mess. This side of Jack had eluded her entirely, and it was her own fault.

Jack roughly straightened his jacket, averting his eyes from her. "Frankly, I's in the dark, too. Ya didn't even tell me nothin' when he disappeared! Isn't the ransom s'posed t' come the day of?"

Conlon scoffed. "Maybe this ain't about you! Ever think o' that, Jacky?"

"What're ya talkin' about?" The bafflement on Jack's face was comforting, Katherine had to admit. At least they were confused together.

Conlon rolled his eyes, as though they were struggling to comprehend basic math. "I started noticin' money gettin' skimmed off th' top, an' that it always happened whenever Jack was givin' us a hand up here."

"I ain't never stole no money." Jack's eyes were dark. "I only ever make the trip up when we's plannin' a raid, and I'm with ya the whole time!"

"Yeah, you are. But then Race here—" Conlon nodded at Race, "—reported to me that you wasn't makin' these trips alone."

Jack blanched. Even his lips were white. His eyes were trained on Conlon, but they seemed to stare through both him and the wall behind him, like his mind had fled to another realm entirely. When he spoke, his voice wasn't hard-edged and defensive; it was broken.

"I only brought him t' get some air an' see some girls."

Conlon shrugged "I know ya, Jacky. Ya hardly let that kid jaywalk. You wouldn't put him up t' some stunt like that."

Jack suddenly lurched forward again, but Race's gun stopped him from grabbing Conlon. So he wavered on his feet like a boxer, his hands balled into fists. "Tell me where Crutchie is. I checked all the safe houses on my turf."

"Ya ain't gettin' off so easy." Conlon folded his arms across his chest. "We's still got business t' sort out."

"What business? Ya got my brother under lock 'n' key! And I swear if ya hurt a single hair on his head—"

Suddenly they were interrupted by a loud thump from beneath their feet, causing all of them to jump. Katherine bent down and turned a listening ear to the floor, where she heard the faint scraping of boots on cement, followed by muffled shouts.

She looked up at Conlon. "Something's happening in your basement."

Conlon and Jack looked at each other, eyes wide with horror, and then they and Race bolted from the room.

Katherine followed hot on their heels as they sprinted down the hall and back into the dining room of the pub, where a handful of well-dressed men were weaving through the tables towards them. Race sucked in a gasp.

"Shit."

Suddenly the well-dressed men leading the charge whirled towards them, their hands reaching into their jackets. A hand clamped onto Katherine's arm and yanked her down in a heap beside Jack and the others as shots rang out above them, burrowing into the wall and shattering bottles. As liquor rained down on them, screams and shouts erupted from the dining room patrons, along with the scraping of wood on stone floor as people tore out of their chairs and scrambled for cover. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Race produce a key from his pocket and reach for a box on a low shelf. He unlocked the box and pulled out a tommy gun.

"Mother of god," Katherine murmured.

"Yeah, I know," said Jack. "Race, you cover us. We's gonna get t' the cellar."

Race glanced at Conlon, who nodded his approval. Jack's hand tightened on Katherine's arm. "The way out's a straight shot from here." He pointed with his chin at the back of the Galleon, where a door was nestled in between the stage and the wall.

"Has this happened before?" she asked. "You're all pretty practiced."

"Ya tend t' plan fo' th' worst outcome." Jack looked back at Conlon. "Whenever ya ready."

Conlon reached for the pistol on another low shelf. "Now!"

He and Race rose as one and let out a spray of fire through the dining room. Katherine and Jack dashed for the door at the back of the pub, legs pumping and hearts pounding. Jack shouldered the door open and together they burst outside into the beginnings of dusk. "The cellar door's this way. C'mon!"

They rounded the corner of the building and skidded to a stop at the sight before them. Three or four paddy wagons were parked haphazardly around a storm cellar entrance whose doors were thrown wide. Men streamed in and out of the entrance, dragging kids by their collars toward the wagons. There were a handful of teens but most kids were younger than twelve, wearing poorly-fitted clothes as filthy as their dirty faces.

Katherine's blood curdled. David had said Conlon was suspected of aiding fugitives—what were kids doing here?

The kids kicked and screamed, but the one that put up the most tremendous fight was a teen with an angular chin, straw-colored hair that stuck up in all directions, and a crutch.

Jack rushed forward. "Crutchie!"

The straw-haired boy jumped at the sound of his name, and then his face lit up with hope. "Jack!"

"Kelly!" The man who stood by the wagons and supervised the operation had his beady eyes on Jack. He was a broad, imposing man with ruddy cheeks and an angry frown. He pointed at them and shouted, "Get him!"

The men reached into their inside coat pockets and the backs of their trousers. Katherine caught Jack by the arm and yanked him back behind the corner of the pub just as a bullet whizzed past and caught the corner of the building.

"Don't you dare keep me from my brother, Plumber!" He fought to tear his arm free, but her grip was iron and resolve steel.

"We're outnumbered five to one," she hissed, pulling him along. "We're not getting anywhere near those kids without getting captured. And if we're captured, we can't help your brother."

"We can't just stand back!" He turned on his heel and tried to march back, but no dice. "I ain't lettin' him face Snyder alone!"

"Right now, us running away is his best chance!" The shots rang out closer as the men rounded the corner. That prodded Jack into full-fledged fleeing, but not fast enough: he cried out as they ran and pressed his hand to his shoulder. Blood bubbled around his fingers.

The door that brought them out here slammed open suddenly, and Conlon burst out with the tommy gun in his hands and Race on his tail. "Follow me!" screamed Race, bolting past them and into an alley beside the Galleon. They followed without hesitation to a beaten-up Ford, which Race was already climbing behind the wheel of. Conlon dove into the passenger's seat and reloaded as Katherine and Jack scrambled into the back. "Get us outta here, Higgins!"

Conlon turned around, knelt upon his seat, and took aim at the back windshield. "Keep ya heads down."

Katherine shrunk into her seat as the car roared to life and sped away, tearing through the streets of Brooklyn. Conlon emptied his whole magazine out the back, shattering the windshield and raining glass down on the her and Jack. It was quiet when Conlon reloaded again, quiet enough for her to brave peeking through the destroyed windshield at the street behind them.

The Galleon shrank into the fierce light of the sunset as they drove. The pub was emblazoned in a bright red, like the pit of hell they'd just crawled out of. The pit they'd left those children in.


	5. What Stoked the Flame

"You can park right here."

Race smoothly guided the car flush against the curb, as gentle as a rowboat on a river. For a moment, Katherine was transported back to her family's estate in Maine, where she and her siblings would spend childhood summers on the calm seas. The waves would roll beneath their boat and she would sit on the bow and stare at her reflection in the waters, marveling at the way they would distort her face. With a childhood full of warm sun and the laughter of her family, Katherine had thought there could be nothing but peace in this world.

The car stilled and the engine cut off. The exhausted quartet heaved a collective sigh and climbed out onto the dark, familiar street. Katherine had insisted they come here to escape any of Snyder's goons after Race had outmaneuvered them on the road. She was the only quantity unknown to Snyder, so her offices made the perfect home base.

Katherine fished in her pockets while Race and Conlon went around to check on Jack, whose shoulder had left an intimidating stain on the car seats. Katherine went to a door beside the tailor's shop and unlocked it as they coaxed Jack onto the sidewalk. "This way."

She climbed the narrow staircase to her office door and went to unlock it, but her door was already slightly ajar. Maybe she left it unlocked in her race to the Galleon, but that wasn't like her. Not after that case with the Delanceys.

She pulled her gun out of her pocket and shouldered the door open, pointing it squarely at the figure pacing the room. He whirled around and threw up his hands, his face turning white.

"Kitty, it's me!"

" _Davey?"_

She stowed her gun and her friend David Jacobs lowered his hands, relief sweeping over his face. He went towards her, reaching his arms out. "Don't scare me like that."

"Then don't break into my office, maybe."

And yet she went towards him, sinking gratefully into his embrace. His arms wrapped around her and he murmured, "Don't scare me like that."

"Who's this?" asked Jack's voice from the doorway. Katherine pulled away and found Jack, Spot, and Race trooping through the doorway and looking David up and down, one question clear in their eyes: can we trust you?

Katherine turned to face her friend again, determined to puzzle out why he was here. She gave him that key for emergencies only, and this—well, this _had_ been one, but he hadn't been privy to it. "Davey, what are you doing here? We don't have time for pleasantries."

"I couldn't stop thinking about what you said after you hung up." David's wary eyes first danced over her and then made their rounds on the men hovering near the door. "I made some calls and then hoped I would meet you here. For better or for worse." When he looked again at the others, and Katherine saw in his eyes the conclusion that yes, this is firmly in the _for worse_ category.

"Wait." Jack, with his narrowed eyes and bloody shoulder, was the picture of intimidation. "What do ya mean, 'made some calls'? An' who are you, by the way?"

"A friend," replied David defensively "Who are you? The man named Conlon?"

"Nah, that's me." Conlon pushed forward. "An' since ya seemed t' mishear _my_ friend, I's gonna ask ya: _what fuckin' calls didja make?"_

David looked back at Katherine. He had always had expressive eyes; in them, she watched his self-righteousness crumble. She recoiled from him, revolted. " _You_ tipped off the cops!"

"I was only looking out for you!" said David helplessly. "How could I let you wander into the lion's den all alone?"

Jack and Conlon both lunged forward, but Jack got there first. He grabbed David by his lapels and shoved him against the wall, the anger of losing his brother clawing at him from the inside out. "I swear to God, if my brother gets hurt 'cause o' you—!"

"Your brother?" yelped David. "What are you talking about?"

Conlon grabbed Katherine's arm and yanked her towards him. "Why's he know so much 'bout where ya goin'?"

Katherine's jaw clenched and she tore her arm out of his grasp. Reporters never gave away their sources, but detectives were forced to rely on their witness's credibility. "He works for the paper. He helped me figure out where to find you."

Conlon turned bright red. "Ya talked t' the papers?!"

"I'm her informant, not her publisher!" David pushed against Jack's chest and forced him off, moving again towards Katherine. "All I knew was that she was going into _your_ hideout, and I wasn't letting you go in alone!"

 _"David!"_ she screamed at the top of her lungs. "You know not to interfere in my investigations!"

"Ya did more than interfere!" Jack thundered. "Ya got my brother an' a dozen other kids sent t' th' Refuge!"

David gave Jack a quizzical look. "I called for the police."

"Get ya head outta ya ass," said Conlon bitterly. "The police know we's linked t' these kids runnin' away, so they call Snyder who can call up th' orphanages. An' believe me, orphanages ain't no place for kids t' go. That's why we's riskin' everythin' t' bust 'em out!"

" _What_?" Katherine and David said at the same time. With the disaster that had befallen them at the Galleon, Katherine never actually got around to figuring out what operation Jack and Spot ran. It looked like human trafficking, and the very thought of that turned Katherine's stomach, but Jack and Conlon didn't talk about the kids like cattle. They _cared_ for them.

"Conlon." She turned to him. "What do you do?"

Conlon heaved a sigh, and something changed in him that Katherine couldn't pinpoint. He'd danced around this secret for so long and almost killed her to preserve it, but this time she didn't need to threaten him or bribe him to get him talking. If she had to guess, it was Jack's trust in her that bought her credibility. If he thought she was worthy of saving from the gunfight, then she could be trusted to hear the truth.

"We bust kids outta places they should never be," he explained, his voice heavy. His gaze was fixed on the floor. "The stealin' was us, but we didn't take none for ourselves. It was for the folks we take in. We bring 'em to our safehouses, give 'em food an' clothes, and then we sends 'em off with enough cash t' stay fed fo' a few days. Then when they's older and they's got themselves jobs, we remind 'em of our generosity and ask they pay us back with a li'l interest. An' that's just so's we can keep things runnin' smooth."

"They come from juvenile jails, mostly." A muscle was jumping in Jack's jaw. "Orphanages. Places like the Refuge run by folks like Snyder who don't care 'bout the kids. They take as many as they can get 'cause then the city gives 'em more money per kid, 'cept that money don't go t' the kids. It just fills the wardens' pockets."

Katherine stared at Jack and Conlon, her jaw slack. All this secrecy and violence over doing something good? "I-I had no idea. I never knew an operation like yours existed."

"It's the first of its kind, far as we know." Race, quiet and observant since he got in the door, shuffled closer. "No one else is lookin' out for us, so we started lookin' out fo' ourselves."

His words hit her like a ton of bricks. Jack, Conlon, Race—they were raised by the streets of New York. They had been in these juvenile jails and orphanages and found them awful enough to build an underground network to stop others from suffering.

And they'd just sentenced the children they saved to the fate they had escaped.

Katherine's heart sank, weighed down by their words. Her blunder had cost Charlie his safety, along with that of a dozen other children. She had let them down. Why was she so good at letting people down?

She heaved a sigh and went to her desk, grabbing the whiskey from the bottom drawer. "I can fix Jack's shoulder upstairs. In the meantime." She set the bottle on her desk and bent again to fetch glasses. "Help yourselves."

A ghost of a smile passed over Conlon. "Thank ya, Detective," he said, moving towards the desk. "We can behave ourselves down here, long as ya friend don't move any closer t' the phone."

David opened his mouth but Katherine shot him a look. _Don't poke the bear._ "Jack, this way."

She turned on her heel and led Jack back through the door to her office and up another flight of stairs. She got to the landing, pulled out her second key, and then unlocked the door to her apartment. A tiny living room, a kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom shoved away in the back was all she had. Maybe she didn't have room for things like bookcases or gramophones, but she had enough space for herself and a nice window in the bedroom that allowed her to use the sun as a wake-up call. What more could she ask for?

She pointed him to the kitchen. "Sit down there."

"Yes, ma'am." Jack shuffled off while Katherine went to the bathroom to retrieve bandages, scissors, and tape and then went to her kitchen, setting her supplies down by Jack's seat at her table. "Strip."

"Yes, _ma'am_." Jack unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off, hissing in pain as he carefully extracted his bloodied shoulder from the sleeve. It was only a graze, it looked like. Nothing that would need stitches. Tight bandaging would do.

"Looks like a simple patch job." She grabbed her dishtowel, soaked the corner, and then began daubing off the blood. "Would have brought the booze, anyway, but I think it'll calm down the others. It's put to better use with them."

Jack grunted and then they lapsed into silence. Katherine's mind whirred as she worked, taking a mental inventory of everything that had happened. They had barely escaped capture but had sacrificed Charlie to escape, along with the kids Jack and Conlon had saved. She couldn't stop thinking of the way those children had reacted to their supposed escape. Some had fought their rescuers while others obeyed listlessly, already resigned a cruel fate. She knew this city was cruel—it had burned her and then left her to fizzle away—but children were innocent. They did nothing to deserve this.

And to think all this started because a client walked in with a case and a brother to lose. _Jack Kelly, what do you do to me?_

She was shaken from her thoughts by Jack's voice. "This is my fault."

"It's not. You didn't know what your brother was doing."

"But he knew we needed money." He kneaded his fists in his lap as she expertly wove the bandages around his shoulder. "Tried pickin' up other jobs 'cause I didn't want him workin' with that leg. But he's a restless kid, always has been, and wouldn't just sit around feelin' sorry for himself. An' his leg's been actin' up with the changin' seasons."

She heaved a long sigh. It was her mother's sigh, exhausted by the bickering of seven children. "You didn't ask him to steal that money."

"But he wouldn't have done it all all if I could get him his medicine." His shoulders tensed up, probably from the weight of the world bearing down on them. "He's a good kid. He wouldn't o' done nothin' like this unless the pain was unbearable."

Her heart broke for him. To people like Jack, people who would give anything to anyone to help their loved ones, fate was not destiny written in the stars. Fate was the result of their actions, even when they had no other option.

And she was the exact same.

"For whatever it's worth, I meant what I said. And I know it might seem easy for me to say that, but trust me, I know a little too well how your world can come crashing down despite your best efforts. What happens, happens, no matter how much we try to prevent it."

Jack went quiet, reading her silence a little too well. "What happened?"

She heaved a sigh. It was still tricky to talk about, but maybe if he knew her ordeal, her words would be easier to believe. "I used to be a reporter for the _Sun_."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She smiled just a little. "You remember when allegations started flying around that the mayor was funneling money from the city?"

"Yeah, why?"

"That was my investigation."

He turned around in his seat, gazing up at her in awe. "No way. That was _you?"_

"It was."

"Damn. No wonder you's good at detectin'." The awe faded and was replaced by deep disappointment. "He got off scot free, though. Said there weren't no evidence."

"There wasn't." All that careful interviewing of the people around the mayor, the secretaries and janitors and the assistants who knew very well what he was doing, went down the drain as soon as she leveled her accusations. She had promised them anonymity, but an office-wide crackdown scared them into retraction. "He was good at covering his tracks. He bullied everyone into staying quiet and the _Sun_ took the heat for it."

"Which is how ya ended up here." He turned back around and fell into a contemplative silence.

His silence gave her time to think. Was what happened at the Galleon her fault? David had made the call, but only because Katherine hadn't given him all the information—because _she_ didn't know it, either. But then who did she put that down to? Jack, so worried sick that he couldn't figure out which way was up?

Going in circles like this was pointless. Assigning blame for what had happened was the least of their priorities. What mattered was what happened next.

Again, Jack's voice broke into her thoughts. "Did they teach ya how t' stay calm in a shootout at the _Sun_?"

Her heart lightened and she found the strength to chuckle. "Do me a favor and don't tell David you saw me in a firefight."

"I think he might have figured it out, on account o' me bein' _shot_."

Katherine shook her head, finally taping down the last piece and standing back to inspect her work. "How's it feel?"

"Real good. Thanks." Jack picked up his bloody shirt from the floor, stood, and pulled it back on, wincing as the still-wet spots dragged along his skin. "I would love it if ya had a washer an' dryer."

"There's a laundromat down the street, but for now, we have work to do." Katherine saw the look of puzzlement on Jack's face as she turned and pulled drinking glasses out of her kitchen cabinet. "I think we'll all get along better with a little liquor."

"Wait." Jack's brow furrowed. "Come again?"

"We have to save your brother and the rest of those kids." She handed one glass to Jack. "I know the three of you will do that one way or another, and I intend to help."

Jack practically had to pick his jaw up from the floor. "I thought you was gonna bail. Now's ya chance t' cut ties wit' Spot."

She shook her head. "What happened, happened. We couldn't stop it, but that doesn't mean we can't fix it."

He pulled her in suddenly, his hands cupping her neck as their lips crashed together. Her eyebrows shot up but her eyes fell closed as his passion hit her. She grabbed him by the arms and did the unthinkable: she pulled him closer.

All too suddenly, his eyes widened and he pulled away from her, as if he'd just realized what he had done. "I'm so sorry, Detective, that was way outta line."

It was, but something illogical erupted in Katherine that didn't care. Suddenly she was back at the Galleon, where Jack was yanking her out of harm's way and she returned the favor. She was safe, and she was on _fire_.

"Yeah, it was." She reached for him again. "It also took you way too long."

She pulled him in and kissed him, reveling in the stupidity of this. They were on the tail end of a rough night. Emotions were running high, and this would surely spiral out of control the moment they parted, but Katherine squashed those reminders in favor of memorizing the taste of his lips and the feeling of his arms as they wrapped back around her. He clung to her like a rock in a storm. No— _he_ was the storm, unpredictable and beautiful.

They parted slowly, panting, as their eyes met. She saw trepidation in those beautiful green eyes, and a desperation for whatever pulled them together to remain. Neither of them wanted to face their fates. For a little while, everything could be okay.

Jack's hand caressed her cheek. "I knew you was unlike any woman I ever met the moment I saw ya. Unlike any woman on _Earth_. I thought I was feelin' relief that Crutchie was in such capable hands—an' I was, but there was more. I ain't quite sure wha' tha' is, o' what's gonna happen next, but I do know tha' I don't wanna stop seein' ya once we get Crutchie home."

The mention of his brother burst their bubble universe. Charlie was out there, suffering at the hands of Snyder along with the other kids stolen from the Galleon, with only the four of them to count on.

Passion erupted in Katherine again, but of a different sort. _We can't fail those kids._

"Jack." She lowered her arms and pulled away from him, immediately feeling colder. "We're emotional. We've had a long day, to say the least. I think whatever this is needs to be benched. Just for now."

His face didn't fall. It crumbled so vividly that Katherine swore she could see his breaking heart in his eyes. Outrage started to fill the cracks as he said, "I know what I feel fo' ya. So what if we's had a long night?"

"I feel it, too, Jack." She tentatively reached for his hand and he allowed her to hold it, but his grip was lifeless. Disappointed. "But whatever happens after we leave this room determines what happens to your family, and to _us_. I've lost everything before and I don't want to do it again."

He sighed. "So this one moment might be all we got?" His hand tightened on hers. "Is you okay with that?"

"I have to be." Once again she drew close to him. "And the way I see it, we might as well treat it like forever, right?"

He finally met her eyes again. That soft nervousness was back. "Is this enough fo' ya?"

"No." She licked her lips. "But if this is all we have, then we'll have to make peace with it." She kissed him one final time, quiet and slow as they savored the feeling. If this was all they had, they'd remember it well.

They parted slowly. Katherine was the first to speak.

"Come on. Let's get downstairs before the others tear my office apart. We're getting your brother back, and we're getting him back tonight."

Jack let out a slow breath, his eyes soft and filled with awe. "You are one hell of a woman."

"Put that thing down!"

"Hey!" Katherine barked, storming across the room to plant herself between David and Conlon. Conlon had pulled out his gun again and David, to his credit, hadn't shrunk away. He chose to get angry instead and while his courage might be admirable, his idiocy was not.

"I'm not afraid of you, Conlon!" said David as Katherine pushed against his chest to back him away. Jack had hurried after her and stood before Conlon, hands held palm-out in the universal "calm down" gesture.

"C'mon, Spot, take it easy. He's on our side."

"No, he ain't," said Race, his mouth twisted in a sneer. "But if he's jus' gonna raise hell, we might as well go, right? It's his fault we's in this mess!"

Finally David stopped fighting her, but his fists were balled at his sides and his chest was heaving. "Yeah, why don't you?"

"What happened?" she demanded. "I leave for five minutes and all hell breaks loose?"

He backed away from her, brushing himself off. "I just told them that whatever they want to do, they can do someplace else. They're not using your office as their little hideout." He gestured around her to Conlon and Race. "They're already talking about some kind of rescue mission, and I told them whatever they were planning, they can plan somewhere else where we're out of the line of fire!"

So Conlon was planning the same thing she was. That would make things a lot smoother.

"Will you shut up? I'm joining them, Davey!"

" _What?"_ said David, Conlon, and Race all at the same time. She'd never been assaulted by so much disbelief on so many fronts, followed by such an oppressive silence that it weighed down the whole room. Before David could break it (because he was always the first to break silences), Katherine said, "Jack is still my client and he hired me to get his brother back. My case isn't over."

"You're insane, Katherine." He grasped her by the arms, glancing over her shoulder at Conlon. "You really want to stay involved with this?"

"I have no choice." She pushed him away. "And even if I did, I would join them all the same."

"Wait a minute," said Conlon. She could hear the narrowed eyes in his voice. "So you is invitin' yaself inta this? I think ya got us in enough trouble already tonight."

"I already have a plan," she replied coolly, turning to him. "Are you going to say no to that?"

Conlon groaned. "Ya got an answer for everythin', don'tcha, Little Miss Detective?"

"I have answers because I've been _thinking_. And I want Crutchie back and those kids safe just as much as you do."

"Then what about him?" said Race, pointing at David. "Do he know too much?"

"We could use ya help," Jack offered. "C'mon, Davey."

" _David_." David folded his arms, his jaw set.

"David." Jack's thick accent still distorted the sound of his name, but he was clearly trying his best. "Ya gotta family? Brothers 'n' sisters?"

David's eyes hardened. "Are you threatening them?"

"No!" Jack shook his head emphatically. "No, I ain't. But wouldn'tcha do anythin' fo' them?"

Katherine watched as Jack hit every pressure point on David, weakening his defenses considerably. She knew how to get people talking, but Jack knew how to talk to people. It was admirable, really. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Jack walked closer to David. "My brother's in the Refuge, David. An' we's all willin' to break the law because we's all been there. we know that no kid, big or little, should ever have to endure that awful place."

Katherine watched Jack's words sink in, but they didn't reach just David. Conlon and Race both softened up; Race's body folded in on itself and Conlon's eyes were fixed on the floor. They were all still haunted by the horror of the Refuge.

Jack's hands folded in front of him, so tightly that they might have been bound by a rosary. "What we wanna do ain't easy, and it certainly ain't the safest, but we got no choice."

The empathy in David's eyes was unmistakable. "I understand." He glanced between Jack and Katherine as he asked, "Are you sure there's no safer way to do this? You have to storm the Refuge in the dead of night?"

"The city loves Snyder too much t' think he's doin' something wrong," said Conlon. "No matter what, kids'll end back up wit' him."

David heaved a sigh and then looked down at Katherine. "And you're not going to be swayed, are you?"

Katherine didn't break his gaze. "Not a chance."

David's eyes swept across the four allies united by duty and empathy. Maybe it was cold to say so, but Katherine knew he wouldn't stand a chance.

"Well, if Conlon doesn't have anything to say about it," said David, nodding at Conlon, "then I'll join you. But only to keep _you_ safe, Kitty."

Ignoring the sigh of relief that came from the others, Katherine folded her arms and snapped, "I can take care of myself, you know."

"Look where that got you!"

"As a matter of fact, _your_ interference is what got us here, _might I remind you_."

"Hey," Conlon interrupted. "What's this 'bout a plan?"

The plan. Really all she had was an end goal, or a few specific objectives, but nothing about how to accomplish them. "The plan, yes. But first—"

She grabbed Jack by the arm and pulled her to the chair behind her desk, reaching into her pocket and handing over her notebook. "Jack, you've been in the Refuge. Draw everything you can remember.

"Yes, ma'am." Jack immediately took up the pencil and started to sketch. Katherine rounded her desk, perched on the front edge of it, and said, "Race, Conlon, you tell me everything about Snyder's habits. The way he runs the place, what his security is like, and what the kids there would and wouldn't do."

She glanced at David, who looked lost. "Davey?"

"Yeah?"

She gestured to the glasses on the desk. "Pour us all another drink, and give yourself a double. You're going to need it."


	6. The Raid on the Refuge

New York was not content to be quiet at night. Light blazed from windows of homes and drunkards wandered aimlessly on the sidewalk. The roads were qempty except for the Ford creeping through the city and the Plymouth that quietly followed. The Plymouth belonged to David, but it was Katherine white-knuckling the wheel, eyes locked on the bumper of Conlon's car. David sulked beside her in the passenger's seat. "Why aren't I driving my own car?"

"Because Conlon doesn't trust you yet," Katherine answered shortly. Conlon didn't fully trust her, yet, either, but he trusted her and Jack _together_ even less, which was why he'd taken Jack in his own car and stationed Race in the backseat of David's.

Race clapped Davey on the shoulder, forcing David to hold back his flinch. "But I trust ya. Anyone who's helpin' us out is good as gold."

They pulled into a dark, narrow alleyway overflowing with trash. She turned off the car and the three of them squeezed out, migrating to the trunk of Conlon's Ford. Conlon and Jack were already digging through their supplies.

"The Refuge ain't far," Conlon said as he handed Race a length of rope. "Detective, I's wonderin' if you an' ya pal should stay wit' the cars."

Her brow furrowed. "What for?"

"The three o' us know the Refuge," he explained, gesturing between himself, Race, and Jack. "You two don't. If we's practical, you's best with the car."

David's hand was already on Katherine's shoulder, intent on guiding her back, but Jack said loyally, "She got us this far. We could always use mo' sets of eyes."

Race glanced between Jack and Conlon and then said, "Do ya really want either o' them drivin' ya car, boss?"

Conlon heaved a sigh. "Ya right, Higgins. C'mon."

They set on their way, picking through alleys and hopping fences to avoid the main road. They were weaving towards a four-story monolith of a building that stuck out like a sore thumb among run-down homes and derelict shops. It lorded over the other buildings in the slum and oozed authority.

"There it is," said Jack, a quiver in his voice. "The Refuge."

Katherine had counted it as a lucky break when Race told her Snyder didn't employ any guards, but now she saw why. The Refuge itself was intimidating enough to ward off rescuers. What must it look like from the inside?

The fellowship made their way to a set of stairs sunken into the ground that led to the cellar door. Katherine climbed down and started picking the lock, which was met by an impressed murmur ran through the onlookers.

"We were nine when she started bending her hairpins," said David proudly. "Your mother wasn't happy with you, remember?"

"Not in the least." The lock popped open with a satisfying click. "Let's roll."

"Backmost window, all right?" Jack reminded, reaching to adjust the coil of rope over Race's shoulder. "Tie it to somethin' sturdy."

"I know what I'm doin'." With a wry grin, Race crept into the cellar and left the others to wait. They waited in tense silence, watching the windows with eagle eyes.

Katherine gave it thirty more seconds and then headed for the cellar. They could bust kids out of the Refuge, but Snyder could just find more kids and keep his pockets filled. This might win them the battle, but they'd lose the war.

Of course, just getting the others to go along with the plan was a battle itself. David's nay vote was adamant, but the others hadn't taken very long to cajole. The three of them were deeply caring people and protective of their own, and this little add-on to their plan would remove the threatening presence those kids needed protection from.

Katherine was halfway through the cellar when she felt a hand on her arm. She whirled around, ready to clock whoever grabbed her, until Jack's voice said, "It's jus' me!"

"Christ!" She pulled her arm out of Jack's grasp. "Don't scare me like that! Why aren't you out there with the others?"

"It just occurred t' me tha' ya don't know where Snyder's office is," he whispered. "We didn't think 'bout that." They hadn't. Katherine had volunteered for this mission because she was the most expendable. Jack and Conlon had their operation, and David was the reporter. If something happened to her, he could still spread the word about Snyder and his crimes.

Before she could reply, another set of footsteps hurried towards them. Katherine shone her flashlight towards the cellar door and caught David in its beam.

" _David Mayer Jacobs_ , what are you doing here?"

"You think I'm letting you go on your own?" he snapped. "Let's get going. Lead the way, Jack."

Katherine was stunned by David's sudden commanding air, and apparently, so was Jack. "Fine. Come wit' me."

He led them through the cellar, up another set of stairs, and through another door. The stench of rotting food billowed towards them as soon as Jack opened the door. They were in what once might have been a kitchen. Filthy dishes, most of them cracked or chipped, were stacked everywhere except in the sink. A rat squeaked and scampered uncomfortably close to her, causing her to jump.

Jack walked through without flinching. "Ya should see where they keep the boys."

She and David followed him out of the kitchen to a hallway with a staircase. A door, probably the entrance to the Refuge, stood at the other end. Jack led them to a door halfway through and pressed his ear to it.

"Snyder sleeps in the room off this one," Jack whispered as Katherine fished out her lockpicks again. "Quiet as ya can."

She nodded and began picking the lock as silently as she could manage. With Jack twitching at every sound, which included another rat or two, it was a miracle she could get anywhere with it, but the lock gave and she slowly pushed open the door to Snyder's office.

It wasn't the den of evil Jack had led her to believe it was: it had a desk, a chair, a bookcase, and a few filing cabinets. The standard stuff. The trio crept inside and pulled out their flashlights.

"Find his ledger," said Katherine. "We'll be able to prove he's laundering money with that."

They set out to search, carefully and quietly combing the office. Katherine went to the bookcase in the corner while David took the desk and Jack the first filing cabinet. She doubted his book of numbers would be in his library, but it didn't hurt to check. Snyder had books on law at the local, state, and national levels, history of crime, politics…he was well-read, that was for sure. How could someone who kept a library this intelligent be such a brute?

She turned and found Jack pulling out files and plopping them onto the desk. "What are you doing?" she hissed, drawing closer to him.

"Gettin' us outta the system." He tossed another file onto the desk: the name in the tab was _Francis Sullivan._

Curious, David reached for one of the files and opened it up, his eyes widening as he read. "They talk about kids like this?" he asked. " 'High risk, repeat offender. Extended detention recommended.' Who talks about _children_ like this?"

Jack shook his head. "Anyone who don't think these kids is kids. If we don't got parents, we's rats."

A weight settled in Katherine's heart, and she could tell by David's expression that he was feeling the same pressure. Their parents had given them everything they could and protected them from harsh reality. Jack and other kids had never had that luxury.

She turned back to the bookcase and found one smaller book on the bottom shelf, hidden between two massive atlases. She bent down, pulled it out, and opened it on her lap. Numbers and dates were scrawled on the pages.

"I found it!"

"Ya did?"

"Bring it here!"

Katherine rushed to Snyder's desk and spread the ledger open. Jack and David crowded around her and all three scanned the numbers, doing the calculations in their heads. They all turned to each other with big smiles as they came to the same realization: the numbers didn't add up.

"Perfect." Jack grinned at Katherine as David closed the book and tucked it under his arm. "He ain't getting away with this."

Suddenly from above, they heard a muffled _"No!"_ followed by thumps down the stairs outside. The three raced out and discovered a young man with straw-colored hair booking it downstairs, sporting a black eye and a leg warped by polio.

A sob tore from Jack's throat. " _Crutchie!"_

"Jack!"

Jack hurtled to the stairs as Charlie Morris stumbled down them, nearly toppling to the floor in his rush if his brother hadn't caught him. Charlie flung his arms around Jack, both of them trembling with relief.

"I saw ya at the Galleon," said Charlie, "an' then that kid up there was sayin' you was here, but he was at Spot's an' I thought he was jus' trickin' me again—hey, uh, ya mind takin' it easy?"

"'Course." Jack loosened his hold on Charlie with a wet smile, which wavered as he took in his brother's condition. "He an' Spot are helpin' us bust ya out, though. Things are smooth, 'cept you an' I is gonna hafta talk 'bout what happens while I'm with Spot in back."

Charlie frowned and glanced around, looking to the others for his escape. "Who're these–"

His eyes suddenly widened and he froze, staring at something just above her head. A second later, Katherine noticed a pool of warm light on the floor. Another second later, and she felt the cold, steely barrel of a gun against her temple and a meaty hand on her shoulder.

A voice hoarse with sleep said, "Freeze or the girl dies."

Jack and David whirled around. David's face was pale and Jack's was cast into a deep, bitter scowl. "Snyder the spider."

"And Cowboy Jack, with a merry band of misfits," Snyder sneered from behind her. His voice was gruff with sleep, but he still managed to sound like complete and utter slime. "Really is my lucky day. Got the set." Katherine could hear the grin on Snyder's face, and it sent a chill down her spine. "And I'm turning you both in."

David's face hardened into determination. This was why he'd allied with them: to protect his friend from a fate like this. In Jack she saw the same kind of determination, his shoulders set and his feet planted. _You idiot!_ she thought, quelling the urge to slap him out of this. She was an expendable detective to him, and Jack already had his brother and the ledger that would burn Snyder down. He had everything he needed, but he wasn't running.

If he was going to be that stupid and sentimental—well, she'd have to do the exact same thing for him.

She spun on her heel, her arm flying out and pinning Snyder's to the doorframe, which gave Katherine the opportunity to reach for his gun—

A straw-haired blur ran past her and flung itself at Snyder, locking his arms around his neck and shoving his knee into Snyder's stomach. Snyder doubled over with an _oof_ , and then yanked his arm from the door as he retreated backwards into the office, dragging Charlie with him.

Charlie clung to him fiercely and the other three followed. Jack tugged his brother away while Katherine and David fought with Snyder, who made up for being outnumbered with his size and strength. They struggled in the glow of Snyder's oil lamp perched on the edge of his desk.

"Give me that!" Snyder and David fought over the ledger in David's arms, with Snyder easily tossing Katherine away from him with an almighty push. She stumbled back into the desk, her hip smarting where she met the edge, and noticed Jack dragging his brother back to the door. _Good_.

But then she turned back to the struggle between David and Snyder, and watched time slow down as the warden lifted his gun again and aim it at her friend.

She snatched the lamp from the desk, raced across the room, and smashed it over Snyder's head.

Snyder crumpled to the floor, dazed, the gun clattering out of his hand. Blood trickled from his temple. David was staring at her with eyes as round as saucers. Jack was staring, too, with Charlie hanging onto him. Rage was still coursing through Charlie, and he eyed the gun by the warden's hand, his own clenching into fists. His inability to walk without a crutch was the only thing stopping him from crossing the room to grab the gun and finish the job.

Katherine picked up the gun and leveled it at Snyder. "Jack, get your brother and the ledger out of here. David, get the rest of the kids moving."

Jack turned at once and helped Charlie out the door. David spared her a once-over and then followed them out. A minute later, the Refuge was filled with thundering footsteps and victorious shouts as kids raced out the front door and into the night, thrilled to be free.

Their joy made Snyder stir, awaking with a deep frown. "What's goin' on?"

Katherine bit back a smile. "We're restoring justice."

Minutes passed while the prisoners evacuated, and all Snyder could do was growl and grumble while she held him hostage. She held back every desire to get cocky and vindictive, though the call was strong. These kids deserved better than her getting careless.

"Detective." Jack appeared in the doorway alone, a relieved smile on his face. "Everyone's out. The place is empty."

He came in, his smile turning to a scowl as he lay his eyes on Snyder, bloody and crumpled. "How's it feel, Spider?" Jack jeered. "What's it like watchin' ya web fall apart?"

Snyder said nothing and only glared up at Jack, lip curling. Jack continued, "You ain't never gonna hurt no one again. To think I wasted so much time bein' afraid o' you, an' all I ever had to do was call up Medda's detective."

Jack smiled wryly at her, but it faded quickly and he looked back at Snyder. "Detective, gimme the gun."

The warmth in her heart chilled in an instant. "Why, Jack?"

He swallowed hard. "I overheard what ya said before. I'm aimin' to restore justice."

"Bah!" Snyder spit at their feet. "You call murdering me in cold blood justice? This is an execution."

Jack rounded on him. "Don't talk t' me 'bout cold blood," he hissed. "I watched ya beat kids an' let us starve without blinkin' an eye. This is what ya deserve."

" _Jack_." Katherine turned to him. "If we kill him now, he'll never stand trial or face the consequences of what he's done."

"How can _you_ still trust the folks up top?" he shot back. "After what they did t' ya?"

She stopped short. How _could_ she trust the justice system? After piecing together the mayor's embezzlement and losing her job and her credibility because of it, she had seen how easy it was for the big guys to get away while others suffered for it.

But this was different. This was just as important, but different.

"We have the ledger, she replied. "We have ironclad _proof_. No one can sweep that under the rug."

He stared at her for a long moment, his jaw tight and his eyes hard. She knew very well she was asking him to trust a system that wronged him time and time again, but this ensured that men like Snyder never siphoned away money or got anywhere near children. This would make crimes like his impossible.

But she also knew that he wasn't ready to trust her yet, so she told him what he wanted to hear. "Killing him is his easy way out. He deserves to suffer."

His shoulders squared. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Ya right."

Suddenly Snyder sprang up from the wall and bore down on Jack, grabbing for the gun. Jack yelled—and fired.

Katherine thought the gunshot might be muffled since the barrel was pressed to Snyder's torso, but it cracked clear through the room, rattling her skull. They all stared at each other, dazed, as Snyder wavered on his feet and then collapsed again, slumping back against the wall. He wheezed once, twice, three times, and then was still.

Jack was shaking, but his grip on the gun was iron, the tendons of his hand popping out against his skin. "I can't believe it. He's gone. I _killed_ him."

"It was self-defense." Her heart thudded and her mind raced. "Jack, give me the gun."

He handed it over to her without a word, his resolve buckling the moment his hand was empty. As Katherine made quick work of emptying the chamber of the rest of the bullets, he wandered to the desk and sat down, his eyes wide and his face pale.

She dropped the bullets into her coat pocket and raced over to the desk, searching frantically through the drawers. She snatched up a box of matches and then rounded the desk again, grabbing the garbage can as she went to Snyder's side. She emptied the can over him, like scattering kindling around a campfire.

She pulled a match out and put it to the rough patch alongside the box. "Wait."

Jack was beside her again, with a little more color in his face. His hand didn't shake as he held it out. "Let me."

She wordlessly handed over box and match. Jack struck the match and held it up, staring down at Snyder. "See you in hell."

He tossed the match onto the pyre. The flame caught quickly, helped along by the spilled oil from the lamp, and soon Snyder was caught in a healthy blaze that crept across the floor and up the walls. He would take the Refuge down with him.

"Jack," said Katherine. She tugged on his arm, but he didn't budge. He wouldn't move, she sensed; he would destroy himself to watch his former captor turn to ash once and for all.

No longer was he the fearful artist nor worried brother; he wasn't even a victim. He was a survivor and a savior, and he feared nothing. "I wanna watch him burn," he said through gritted teeth.

But if they didn't get moving, they would be three charred bodies indistinguishable from each other. They would end up just like Snyder.

So she busted out the magic words. "Come on, Jack. Crutchie's waiting."

That was all it took. At once Jack grabbed her hand and went for the door, picking up speed as they ran for the kitchens. They all but dove into the basement and clambered outside to where Charlie, David, Conlon, and Race stared at the flames steadily consuming the Refuge from the window of Snyder's office, creeping up to the second floor. Race's fists were clenched at his side. Conlon's Adam's apple bobbed painfully as he said, "You'll never hurt no one again, spider."

David said, "We should get out of here before the firetrucks come."

The six jumped into action and started running, Charlie keeping up _surprisingly_ well with them. They bolted down the street, forgoing their stealthy fence-hopping route for the virtue of speed. Conlon and Race went for their Ford, and Katherine tossed David the keys as they piled into the Plymouth with Jack and Charlie in the back. As soon as Charlie's door was closed, David peeled out of the alley and sped away.

Charlie leaned on Jack's shoulder, exhausted. They'd all been through hell, but he had borne the brunt of the suffering. "What's that?" Charlie asked, nodding at the ledger that David had handed off to Katherine in exchange for the keys."

"His accounts," answered Jack. "All his stealin's in there."

"This is proof he abused his power and stole state funds," Katherine added. "If folks take a look at this, they'll see how he got away with it and make laws that'll stop others from doing the same."

Crutchie's face softened. "So no one else'll do this?"

"No." Katherine closed her eyes. "It's over."

AN: But wait! Is there another chapter? Check it out!


	7. Epilogue: Glow

A bright beam of sun shining right in her face woke Katherine from her deep slumber. She groaned and reached up to twitch the curtain shut, but her fingers only grasped empty air. Where was the window?

She opened her eyes and sat up, massaging a crick in her shoulder as she took in the sight of her cramped living room. She had slept on her under-stuffed couch, which explained that crick.

David was still dead asleep on her rug. He didn't stir when she climbed to her feet and skirted around him for her bathroom. Her bedroom was silent, too—Charlie had taken her bed, being the most deserving of it by far, and Jack slept on the rug beside it. Sleeping arrangements were made quickly after they piled into their home base, its secrecy intact, though Conlon and Race peeled off for their own safe house. Two cars following each other in hot pursuit was suspicious, and Katherine just couldn't squeeze in any more people.

She quietly locked the bathroom door behind her and perched on the toilet as she undressed. Standing was dicey with the way her body ached from the strain of the rescue mission, and her clothes reeked of smoke, even from the little exposure. How had she ever fallen asleep with the stench, and the image it recalled?

All at once she was back in that office, watching Snyder's corpse morph and melt. Somehow her head was clear enough last night to cover Jack's tracks: she had tossed the bullets into the alley their cars were parked in and had dropped the empty gun down the storm drain outside her office. All it would take was a heavy rain to wash away any implication of her involvement.

Faced with no other option, she pulled on the silk pink dressing gown her mother had given her. David might never let her live down the fact that she had worn it in front of her clients, but that was the least of her worries.

After washing her face and yanking a brush through her hair, Katherine crept out of her bathroom and made for the kitchen, but then the faint ringing of her telephone in her office reached her ears and she frowned. Who was calling this early?

Soon she perched on the edge of her desk with a glass of water, phone held to her ear. "Plumber Investigations, how can I help you?"

 _"It's Spot, Detective. Spot Conlon."_ He sounded groggy and withered, just as exhausted as she was. _"Didja make it out okay? We was gonna call ya but we passed out as soon as we got in. We's safe."_

"We're fine. No one else is awake." They were fine. Charlie Morris was safe. Snyder was dead. Rarely did her cases wrap up so cleanly. But a closed case didn't mean her work was finished.

"Listen, I want to help your cause."

 _"Really?"_ Spot let out a shocked laugh, the kind of laugh that happens when one's body doesn't know how else to react. _"Well, I'm glad. Thanks. Ya pretty handy when things get tough."_

"If you ever need the services of a private detective, I'm your woman." She sipped her water again. "And I'm not charging you."

 _"With all due respect, we ain't charity cases."_ The hard edge in his voice could have sliced the phone line in half. _"Whenever we need ya services, we'll pay ya jus' like any other client. We know better than most that ya gotta eat."_

"Then I'll give you a big discount. I'm not going to charge full price for doing the right thing, Conlon."

He heaved a sigh. _"You ain't budgin' on this, are ya?"_

"Afraid not."

 _"You is somethin' else, Plumber."_

She smiled. "I've been told."

 _"Hey."_ His tone drained of the delicate warmth, though it didn't exactly go cold. He sounded curious, above all. _"Didja catch Snyder comin' outta there? I was lookin' for him, but I guess I missed him."_

"Mister Conlon…" Snyder's corpse flashed again before her eyes. "He's gone. We saw him die."

She heard Spot take in a shaky breath as the terrorizer of his past evaporated like a whiff of smoke. _"Didja kill him?"_

"Jack pulled the trigger." Self-defense. Remember it was self-defense.

 _"Damn."_ Conlon went silent for a long time. _"Shit. That's…wow. I-I guess I ain't collectin' on Crutchie."_

Her eyebrows darted up. She thanked her lucky stars that Conlon couldn't see her face. "Really?"

 _"If Jack's the one that snuffed him, clearin' his brother's debts is the least I can do."_ She heard the wire crackle again, but this time from the interference caused by Conlon picking up his phone to pace with it. _"I been thinkin' 'bout Snyder. I don't wanna end up like that. I don't want more folks spittin' on my grave than puttin' flowers on it."_

Katherine's jaw dropped. Spot Conlon, the iron-fisted king of Brooklyn, was the last person she thought would ever have this epiphany. And she found herself strangely endeared to him during this revelation. Hadn't he held a gun to her head not that long ago?

 _"Either way,"_ he said, _"I think we both agree that I could be a li'l softer."_

Katherine fought back a laugh. "For whatever it's worth, I wasn't waving a flag of surrender the first time we met."

Conlon laughed. _"I'll see ya soon, Detective."_

"See you soon." Katherine hung up the phone with a smile. Who would have thought?

A shadow slid over the window of her office door. A second later, it opened and Jack came in. He had changed his clothes and was carrying a backpack, the foot of a crutch poking out from the top, and a brown paper bag. His face lit up when he saw her. "Good mornin', ace detective."

"Morning." Her heart lightened. "I thought you were still upstairs."

He set his backpack on the floor and sat down before her desk. Out of the brown bag he pulled a bacon and egg sandwich, which he handed over to her. "Got us some breakfast."

"You're too kind." She took a big bite. "Mmm, this is good."

Jack pulled out a second one for himself and took a bite. "Medda knows the best places."

"You've already been to Medda's?"

He nodded, swallowing his mouthful. "Figured she deserved t' know Crutchie was home after lettin' me sulk in her theater." He pointed with his chin to the backpack. "An' he told me his crutches got lost in the raid, so I picked up one o' his old ones."

"And the sandwiches?"

"The sandwiches were the least I could do t' start sayin' thank you."

Their eyes met and Katherine felt the spark between them. It was the spark she had felt the moment she saw him. She'd felt it at the Galleon, in the Ford, at the Refuge. Calling it a spark after last night seemed unbearable, and the word just felt wrong. But what else was it?

Glow. It was the glow of a sunrise. Sure, the sun set every day, but it was dependable and brighter than a fire, passionate and steadfast.

"I ain't goin' ungrateful fo' everythin' ya did," Jack plowed on, determined. "I's gonna pay ya, Katherine. I promise. It might take awhile, between Crutchie's medicine an' payin' back Spot—"

"Oh!" Katherine's face broke into a grin. "I didn't even tell you the good news. Conlon's forgiving your debt."

Jack shot to his feet, swallowing his bite of sandwich. "For sure?"

"For sure."

Jack whooped, clapping his hands. "You really is a miracle worker, ace! How th' hell didja finagle that?"

And suddenly her joy fizzled out with the grim act that incited Conlon's change of heart. "I told him what you—what happened to Snyder."

"Snyder." That deep, conflicted scowl appeared on his face again and his stare bore through her. He had hated Snyder with every fiber of his being, and perhaps had even wished him dead, but now…

He stood, and she followed automatically. "I think I need ya help with one last thing."

"Name it."

Their eyes met again and Katherine saw the fright she had seen before, but also turmoil. She had never seen Jack second-guess himself; he stuck to his guns, no matter the cost.

"I keep thinkin' 'bout—'bout what I did. I shot 'im an' I killed 'im, but I can't stop feelin' sorry. Even if it was self-defense, even though he'd been horrible t' me an' Crutchie, an' who knows how many other kids—he had every reason t' die, but I feel guilty fo' pullin' the trigger. Ya said it was human nature, but I ain't so sure."

Slowly and carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal, Katherine leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. "It is. You ended a life. A life spent sowing misery and despair, sure, but a human life nonetheless."

"He weren't human," Jack muttered. "Snyder was a monster."

"Monsters can be human." A historic worrier could recklessly dive into danger. A gang leader could be compassionate. And a detective who had every reason not to trust anyone could open her heart to let people in.

Jack finally embraced, her, one hand cupping the back of her head. "I guess I'll just hafta wait an' see."

They stood there for a long while, both completely spent from their adventure. Maybe Jack was right. Only time would tell if their hearts would get lighter.

Jack was the first to break the silence. "Y'know, we's been thinkin' 'bout leavin' the city," he confessed. "Jus' me and Crutch. Now looks like the perfect time."

She pulled away from him and instantly felt ten degrees colder. "It would be smart. Just get out before trouble comes again." Even as she counseled him, her heart was breaking. Even for the little time she'd known Jack, he'd managed to worm his way into her soul and make his absence unbearable to think about.

"I was thinkin' that. But the thing is, there's plenty o' other Refuges and plenty o' Snyders, and plenty o' kids who need our help." His hand slid out of her hair and clasped hers. "But on top o' that, I ain't ready t' leave ya behind, ace. I think we got too much left t' do."

Katherine's face split into a grin. So their tomorrow really was forever.

"So if it's all the same ta you," said Jack, his smile mirroring hers, "I's think we should do somethin' nice soon. Somethin' that don't involve guns or nothin'. Today's booked, since I's gotta take Crutchie home an' get his medicine an' new crutches an' everythin'."

"Well," she said coyly, "I think I can squeeze you in tomorrow."

"Tomorrow it is, ace."

She grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him. She heard the slightest moan as his arms wrapped around her again, his hands bunching up the silk of her dressing gown…

"Katherine?" interrupted a familiar voice.

She pushed Jack away and looked at the door; David stood there, with messy hair, rumpled clothes, and wide eyes.

Jack whirled around, face reddening. "Sorry ya had t' see that."

"So am I."

"Be nice." Katherine combed her fingers through her hair. Last night had brought Jack and David closer together, but apparently not enough for David to withstand the sight of Jack kissing his best friend. "Do you need something?"

"Jack, your brother's awake." He nodded towards the stairwell. "Asked me to come get you so he doesn't have to 'crawl like a beetle.' His words, not mine."

"He sure picked a funny time t' get proud." Jack slung the backpack with the crutch over his shoulder. "We'll get outta ya hair soon."

"Stay a little while longer." Katherine put a hand on Jack's arm. "For coffee, at least."

Jack smiled. "Sure thing, ace."

She shot David a cheeky smile and then kissed Jack's cheek. "We'll follow you up. Go help your brother with his dignity."

Jack tipped his cap at her and then nodded at David as he passed, refusing to dampen his cocky smile. She followed after him, but her friend stopped her in the doorway.

"I'm just saying that your first date started in a jailbreak and ended in arson."

"I'm the one that started the fire, Davey."

Katherine used his shock to slip past him to the stairs, but he recovered and quickly followed after her. They made it back to her rooms and Katherine got the coffee brewing right as Charlie came hobbling out of her bedroom with combed hair and a crutch a few inches too small under his arm, Jack right behind him. He made a beeline for her and said, "I, uh, I don't think I really got a chance t' introduce myself."

Charlie stuck out his hand. "Charlie Morris. Nice t' meetcha, an' thanks for everythin'."

Katherine shook his hand. "I'm Katherine. Nice to meet you finally. I'm not sure if Jack told you, but I'm a private detective he hired to find you."

"No way. Really?"

"Really. And I gotta say, this has been a hell of a case."

Being kind is terrifying. It leaves one open and vulnerable, but it opens the gateway to bravery and justice and coffee on sunny mornings. New York City, for all its glitz and glamor, offered precious little kindness and took more than it give, so it fell to the people of its streets to make things right. They gave Katherine something to fight for again, and they gave her Jack Kelly, the artist, the brother, and perhaps the most compassionate man she'd ever met who deigned to want her. Whatever happened next, whether it was danger or bliss, Katherine was determined to face it with Jack at her side.

Thanks so much everyone! This has been a crazy, crazy journey, and I'm so glad you enjoyed it as much as I did. As always, lemme know what you think! And be patient-maybe there'll be a sequel soon.


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